Terrible Twos

The only way out is through

As I start my second year of this newsletter, I want to refocus. To reintroduce myself. I want to be a reliable narrator to you all because as a former scholar of Philosophy I am very concerned with truth. I’m going through a sort of recalibration in my life and it’s important to me that I begin again on the right foot. I’m thinking of this blog as an ongoing project- an attempt to make sense of my life and the concentric circles that make up everything I see and hear and experience. 

My name is Rachel Harry Ordan. I’m 5’4” and I cannot whistle. I think the perfect meal is spaghetti and meatballs and I don’t like the beach unless it’s at night. One time I ran out of gas on the on-ramp to the Chesapeake Bay bridge the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend. It was the first time I ever called 911 but I called my dad and mom and sister first. I would describe myself as quirky in a crisis.

Another thing about me is I love to love. I have a list of crushes that starts from when I was in first grade and it’s very long. For the longest time I wanted a boyfriend. Then I got one and I felt a sort of externally validating comfort. Oh no she’s talking about it again! I came to learn it would not last. He left me quickly and found a new girl in half a week. I always imagined that I’d be the type of girl that takes years to get over. But life is not The Notebook. I never felt smaller in my life. And like I said, I’m 5’4”. I’m practically an Amazon. I felt like a banana. He took my sweetness and my potassium and when he was done with me, threw away my peel. I thought a part of me broke but it didn’t. The only part of me that ever broke was my left pinky toe. I jammed it into a coffee table in high school by accident and then got to sit out of a 5k that I didn’t want to run anyway. I covered the refreshments table which is a better post for women like me who love to stand still.

I want to tell stories for a living. Like a camp counselor at a bonfire but without the forced team building. In my dreams I get to tell stories about things that matter and things that don’t. I want to make a movie where girls are idiots. I also want to be a hot mom one day. I want people to know that women can be anything we want to be, including dumb. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without my fair share of idiocy.

I see the world through my sense of humor. It’s a sense because it’s not an exact science. Nothing makes me feel more at home in my body than when I’m making people laugh. And not everyone finds me funny. Some people have bad taste and scientists working on a cure. I don’t think I’m a generational talent but at one of my improv shows in college a guy came up to me after and said he didn’t think a girl could be that funny. I didn’t tell him about the rat in my hat that writes all my material.

Going forward, I’m turning the gaze of this newsletter outward. Over the past year, my love took me a little bit away from myself. It made me at times self conscious and insecure and that turned my gaze inwards. I had to put on my own oxygen mask. Going forward I want to be a narrator and not a main character. Life as I see it but not just my life. This is not an autobiography, this is a graduation speech. Relatable, cringey, and with room for a few tears. 

Over the past month I’ve gotten a lot of advice. What to do and not do, say and refrain from saying. It’s all swirling in my head. There’s a Russian nesting doll in my brain and each layer reveals a new discovery about the pain and power that comes with heartbreak. I’m part of the biggest club in the world now and this is my initiation fee. I’ve never felt more in tune with my deepest emotions. I’ve never cried on a G train but there’s a first time for everything.

I just signed a lease on a new apartment. I’m going to build a new home in an old city. The girl who lives there now has been there for the last 6 years, making the space her own. She left me a note. 

“This space gave me a lot of safety and fun and comfort and creativity and provided a container for a lot of growing. I’m excited for it to be able to do the same for you.”

Let year two of Pillowtown be a container for a lot of growth. It’s my terrible twos and I’m here to throw fits and question authority. Don’t make me go to bed at a reasonable hour or I’ll cry.